Morgaine needed something she could not define. The first thing she needed, yes, was something to wash the taste of freshly-siphoned gasoline from her mouth – preferably something stronger. She had enough money, now, to buy the gas she needed from proper channels, but the girl had a mean larcenous streak, and that shiny purple muscle car she\'d taken it from probably belonged to an asshole, anyway.
And who was to blame for this newfound financial security, more than Risk? No one, she answered herself, that\'s who. Plus, her and her bandmates got free drinks as long as they brought the crowds – which they did, superbly, on a bi-weekly basis.
Morgaine could take the stares and the hungry taunts, because of the free drinks.
Morgaine would go to hell and back, for free drinks, come to think of it.
After greeting the bouncer with a laugh and a familiar pat on the back, she entered the club, a ball of quivering, defiant human energy. She was small – all curves and scar tissue and small bones and rich brown skin – but her presence could be felt a mile away, charisma and something darker boiling away beneath the surface.
Though she was human, the other beings didn\'t touch her. Morgaine was disputed territory – she delighted the senses in her short skirt, torn concert t-shirt, fishnets and combat boots, wreathed in a strange perfume of sweat, oil, curry, and jasmine, and the music she made with her band was indescribable. It was because of this music that she remained alive and defiant, independent, but never quite equal.
She made her way through the thronged dancefloor, forsaking the bar for the moment, and heading toward the bathroom with an intent to freshen up. She halted just short of her destination, however, and backtracked. Something wasn\'t right with the way that girl was lying in that dimly-lit nook, behind the diaphanous curtain. Stepping closer, and pushing the curtain gently aside, Morgaine saw the remains of what had once been a teenage girl, neck and arms bent at grotesque angles. Shaken, she let the curtain fall and stumbled back a step as her startled cry of "Motherfucker!" rang out, over the thumping bass.
It looked like Nikolai didn\'t have to tell anybody, after all.